The Mutation
by Seshennu
Summary: 'He sees they have begun to wriggle; smooth, snakelike movements that push against his skin with growing urgency. He is struck with the sudden thought that they need to break free of his flesh, that they need to feel cool air on their own. He tries to scream, but only a breathless wheeze comes forth. His throat is constricting.' Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, I am Sesh and it's been over two years since I uploaded anything to this site. Wow.

So, here's part one of what will probably be a very long fic. A relationship between the Spy-turned-Tentaspy and Sniper is definitely in the outline, but it's by no means the focus of the story. In the 60k words I have written so far, they haven't told each other they like-like each other yet. Although this story will probably most appeal to the Sniper/Spy fans, it's my hope that people who aren't in love with this pairing might like it too, but I can't make any promises. At all. For reasons.

Warnings (Please note that all of the following applies to the story as a whole, and not necessarily for this chapter in particular. I'll only warning once, unless something pops up in a future, as of yet unwritten chapter, that requires a new warning): An erratic writing/update schedule, a Tentaspy, body horror, fighting, non-permanent deaths, gore, hand-waved-away-science-y things, masturbation, and sex. Sometimes, it will contain several of those things happening at the same time! Unless you are reading this on ff.n, which you are, in which case you will not get to read the full sex or masturbation scenes due to site content restraints. When I post a chapter that originally had graphic content in it, I will let you know at the beginning and direct you to my tumblr or some other place.

Hopefully, none of that will scare you off, but I'd rather be upfront with you rather than surprise!squick you several chapters in.

* * *

ONE

Since the end of August, they have been moving to a new base each week, leaving New Mexico far behind as they travel further north and east. The moves are complicated by the almost daily battles: desperate attempts at land grabs, bombs to be pushed over enemy lines, and now, now Spy finds himself with his back flat against the wall, revolver drawn and at the ready as he peers into the room. The enemy's intelligence, carelessly stuffed inside a red briefcase, sits upon a desk where it was left after the alarm sounding his team's presence had been sounded. From his viewpoint, it looks completely clear.

He knows better than that. He is certain that it will not be unguarded. Even taking into account the other team's general lack of competence, he can not imagine it would ever be so easy. His last reconnaissance mission had led to the discovery of a new form of sentry the RED Engineer had in the works, and if he strains his ears, Spy can hear the machine quietly humming ahead. He thinks he has a good idea of what waits for him, if the design has not been changed since he last saw it, that is. A sentry built to have even sharper reaction times, and silent enough to lure unsuspecting enemies into a quick death before they can even realize what hit them.

Spy allows himself a brief moment to relish the smug pride that wells up inside him. There is no doubt in his mind that the RED Engineer had had to design a new sentry with _his_ qualities in mind in order to stand a proper chance against him. It will no doubt pale in comparison to the real thing, but the thought is flattering nonetheless. Still, he regrets not having had the opportunity to sabotage the equipment when he first found it, having only had the chance to steal the blueprints before needing to make a quick escape. Flattery or not, he would much prefer it if the Engineer stuck with his old toys instead of testing the new ones on him mid-battle.

With a quick glance at the hallway behind him, he begins to move back until he is a few feet from the door. Out of earshot, he pulls his sapper from a pocket inside his jacket and cloaks himself. Even completely invisible, he still pauses once more at the door, putting only enough of himself through the entrance as to see into the other side of the room. Just as he expected, the Engineer sits on a folding chair behind the new sentry, his shotgun in hand. The sentry itself is compact, and similar in design to the basic sentries both Engineers can have up and running in moments, although the single barrel has been replaced with a minigun reminiscent of its upgraded form. On its top sits some sort of box, a red light in its center blinking steadily.

Spy frowns at it. The addition had not been depicted in the blueprints he had stolen, and there is no indication on the sentry of what it is capable of. Of course, he reasons, it could be nothing more than a bit of exposed machinery on the prototype, or a useless device meant to temporarily throw him and his teammates off. Behind him, the sounds of battle are growing nearer, and he hears distant shouts in addition to the gunfire and explosions outside. His window of opportunity is shrinking.

He pushes into the room, and has just enough time to register the sentry's gentle beep as it snaps its head around to meet him, just enough time to lunge forward onto the ground before the spot where he once stood is pummeled with bullets. He is still cloaked, and already it is turning to face him once more. He throws the sapper directly at the sentry, tumbling out of its range again. A single bullet manages to lodge itself in his upper arm before the machine sputters and dies, and he holds in a shout. It comes out in a long, drawn out hiss as he stands, switching the hand he holds his revolver in. He is not ambidextrous, but in a pinch like this, so close to his target, he knows he can make the shot. He needs just a moment to line it up correctly.

"Knew you wouldn't be able to resist it," the Engineer says, his tone and cocksure grin out of place on someone up against an invisible enemy. The man's shotgun is aimed directly at him, and Spy takes a long step to his right, adjusting his own aim as he does so. It wouldn't do for the Engineer to get in a lucky shot before he could land his own. His eyes widen as the Engineer's shotgun follows his movement, and he has to look down at himself to be certain his cloak has not faded.

He checks his watch: still working, though quickly running out of power. And in the brief lull of explosions outside, he hears rapidly approaching footsteps. He is running out of time now, too. He moves to the left again, then backward in shock as the Engineer's gun stays trained on him.

"Haven't noticed yet, have ya?" he says as he stands, grin widening. And that's when Spy finally does notice: the little box atop the broken sentry is still blinking, and has moved from its original position to point its red light at him. Spy's brow furrows as the realization hits him. He doubts it can see through his cloak, but if it can sense his body heat, or the vibrations in his footsteps...

"Did you think I wouldn't ever come up with something your sapper can't handle? Once I work out the last couple'a bugs, it'll be ready for the field. And I reckon _you'll_ think twice before you come round with your little toys again."

Spy checks his watch. Eight, now seven percent of its power remains. He needs to make every second count. Spy grits his teeth and decloaks.

"Gotcha."

The Engineer centers his shotgun on Spy's chest, and several things happen in rapid succession.

Spy drops to a crouch as the Engineer fires, taking the shot in his shoulder, just above his other wound. He fires his revolver, the bullet shooting through the Engineer's neck and out the back of his skull. The Engineer collapses to the ground, and Spy drops his revolver to clutch his shoulder, the pain from the wounds beginning to spread like fire-

_Fire, FIRE!_

He feels the first lick of flames against his skin as the RED Pyro runs in, and he activates his watch, the last of its power being used to summon up a doppelganger that screams in agony as it drops, writhing on the floor in a vain attempt to put out the flames before succumbing to them. Spy suppresses a shudder as he maneuvers behind the Pyro, withdrawing his knife and plunging it into the Pyro's back. The wound is not as clean, not as steady as it would have been if he had used his right hand, but it is thankfully enough to drop his opponent.

The disguise activates around him instantly, the real Pyro's body fading away into nothing. Spy hears another person running towards him, and quickly reaches down to picks up the fallen flamethrower, completing his disguise.

"Oi," comes a voice behind him. He does not need to turn and face the man to know it's the RED Sniper, but he does so anyway: the Pyro would not ignore a teammate come to help. The Sniper scans the room, kukri drawn and gripped tightly in his hand.

"Is he dead?" he asks, nodding sharply at the still-burning corpse on the floor. "Really dead, I mean. He's not faking it?"

"Errf crrssh hiirssh," Spy mutters, praying the Sniper is not in a talkative mood. He kicks his doppelganger's corpse in the ribs for effect.

The Sniper does not look entirely convinced, so Spy huffs loudly. "Err _chrrrkkd_," he grumbles, shaking the flamethrower.

After appearing to consider this for a moment, the Sniper nods, his posture relaxing. "Good on ya, then."

"Errsh nrrrhn," he says with a shrug.

"You're mumbling again, mate. Speak up, will you?"

Spy rolls his eyes and gives him a thumbs up just as a blast from a rocket shakes the building. He runs to the door, turning at the waist to sweep the flamethrower from side to side. "Ahhrr klrrr," he says, waving the Sniper forward. "Lrrsh goh!"

"Right," the Sniper runs ahead of him, and despite the pain in his arm, worsened from being forced to hold the Pyro's flamethrower, Spy grins. The Sniper is thankfully making this easy for him. It only takes a second to catch up to the man, and another to drive the knife deep into the Sniper's spine, meeting little resistance as it slices through his vertebrae. He lets the Pyro's weapon clatter to the floor as the new disguise engulfs him. His fingers flex, itching to cradle his injuries. He fights the reflex and instead takes out a small radio.

"It's all clear," he says, leaning heavily against the wall. "Get in here and finish the job."

"It's about freakin' time," Scout grumbles through the radio, and Spy can hear his rapid footsteps approaching from a short distance away, coming out of hiding.

"If we knew you were gonna be this slow about it we might as well sent the frickin' Heavy," Scout says as he turns the corner to meet him. He stops as he passes, giving Spy a hard look. "Hey, man, you alright? You look like shit warmed over twice."

"How kind of you to say so," Spy growls, shaking his head. "I'll be fine after I find the Medic. Get going, before these imbeciles have a chance to respawn. The whole base will be crawling with REDs looking for you in seconds."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Whatever you say, man." He runs into the room and grabs the briefcase, another alarm sounding the instant it leaves the desk.

Scout pauses at the door, in as much as jogging in place can be considered pausing. "Hey, last I saw the doc, he was right in the middle'a things helpin' work the offense. Lay low if ya need to," he says, then sprints to the end of the hall, skidding as he turns the corner.

Spy checks his watch once more, and notes with satisfaction that it has nearly recharged. He hears rapid gunfire not too far away, then Scout's equally loud, mocking laughter.

"Yeah, _real_ nice aim, chump!"

When the sound of gunshot in the building begins to fade, drawing away toward the main battlefield, Spy pushes off the wall and makes his way down the hallway, turning down an empty corridor. It's out of the way, and will take him down a much longer path before he makes it outside, but his odds of running into another member of the RED team will be next to nil. And even if he does, his disguise gives him a good excuse to take the path: neither team's Sniper is known for running headfirst into battle, but the RED is especially fond of taking back routes to get into position.

He is slow to reach the battlefield, but arrives without incident. Taking care to stay out of sight on the sidelines, Spy crosses into his team's territory. He finds his Medic hidden behind a half-collapsed shed, using it as a makeshift barricade while he tends to their Soldier. Medic holds his medigun awkwardly in one hand, balancing it on his hip, as his free hand uses a par of sharp-looking forceps to pull broken glass out of Soldier's chest in swift, and for Soldier, likely painful movements. Soldier spots him first, and immediately points his shotgun at him. Medic abandons his work to get a firm grasp on the medigun and positions himself behind Soldier, who begins to advance.

Spy raises both hands to his head, his right arm not reaching the same height as the other, and lets the disguise fall. "Some assistance, please, Medic."

Though the pair in front of him relax, Soldier still moves forward and scrutinizes him. Spy's expression sours, but he allows the examination, knowing there will be no chance he will be allowed near Medic without Soldier's confirmation. He is willing to waste these few seconds if it means avoiding another... _incident_ with his occasionally trigger-happy teammate. When Soldier is convinced he is not a RED Spy, he grins and clasps him on his uninjured shoulder.

"Good work out there," he says. "This fight is as good as ours. We just need one more solid push to send them crying back to their mommas and we'll be able to take their intelligence back to our base where it belongs!"

"It was nothing," Spy replies with a grin that he can't keep from faltering.

Soldier may not notice the flicker of pain, but Medic does, and pushes him out of the way. "Yes, yes, thank him later," he says as he prods Spy's injuries. "Scorch marks and bullets? Just how many REDs did you run into down there?"

Before Spy can respond, Medic directs him to a wooden crate and pushes him down onto it. Turning to Soldier, he says, "In the unlikely event you do not die before the battle ends, stop by my office so I can remove the rest of that glass."

Soldier gives them both a salute, then with a wild shout, he leaves the cover of the shed, his rocket launcher sending him halfway across the battlefield in one powerful leap. Medic stares after him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"I don't know why I even bother," he grumbles. "As for you, take off your jacket. I want to remove that bullet before I close the wounds. _Now_, please."

"Is there really time for this?" Spy asks as he pulls his jacket off his shoulder. As soon as it is off, Medic is tugging at his shirt, ripping a larger hole in it to get better access to his injuries.

"I'm sorry, did you suddenly discover you are left-handed? No? Then unless you want to remain useless, _yes_, there is time for this," he says and jabs the forceps into the larger bullet wound, rooting around for the shotgun slug.

"Look at this mess," Medic says, ignoring Spy's pained shout. "I'm surprised your arm hasn't fallen clean off. Do you even realize how lucky you are that it's still attached?"

Spy winces as Medic makes no effort to soften the pain as he yanks the slug out of his shoulder. "I will be lucky to have an arm attached when you're finished with me."

"Don't sass me," Medic says, shaking the bloody forceps, and the slug in their grip, far too close to Spy's face for his liking. "I have been running back and forth over this battlefield all day trying to keep you _dummkopfs_ from getting yourselves killed in new and inventive ways, all of which I would approve of, _if we weren't_ -"

Spy pushes Medic's hand away with a light touch. "You misunderstand," he interrupts, a smile creeping upward on his features. "I only mean that I am lucky to be tended by someone so obviously skilled in his field. A lesser doctor would have no choice but to leave me worse off than I am now."

"Hmph. Save your flattery for someone who will believe it," he says, though the words lack any conviction. With another quick yank, he removes the sentry bullet from the smaller wound and tosses it over his shoulder. He drops the forceps back into his pocket and hoists his medigun into a proper grip, sealing the wounds.

"There, now was that so bad?"

Spy shrugs his shoulder in a broad circle, then begins redressing himself. "Medic, you are truly remarkable."

"Yes, yes, I -" he stops short as he hears their Demoman calling frantically for him. "I must go. Try not to undo all the work I've done too soon."

With that, he takes off, syringe gun at the ready as he runs along the edges of the field to his next patient. Spy cloaks himself and follows behind at a distance, keeping an eye on the doctor to ensure he makes it there without incident. When he is sure that Demoman is healed enough to keep both himself and Medic alive, Spy turns and runs back toward the enemy lines. From his new position on a platform atop a small hill, he scans the battlefield. As Soldier had predicted, the RED team is slowly falling back, their defenses beginning to crumble.

The power on his cloak waning, he makes his way to another wooden shack, this one holding up a little better than the last. After a quick look inside, he enters and crosses the small room to the window opposite him. Keeping his back to the wall, he decloaks and peers through the opening, the glass in the window long since shattered and fallen out of the frame.

A short distance ahead, Scout has become entangled in what looks to Spy to be a deadly game of tag as the RED Scout and Demoman chase him across the the rocky field, up onto the rooftops, back down and up again. From his vantage point, he can see Scout begin to slow down. The boy's speed and endurance is legendary, but it is likely that he has not had a single chance to catch his breath since he first made off with the briefcase. Now that he is being shot at by two opponents delighting in herding him back and forth across the battlefield, the chase is clearly starting to take its toll.

Spy bites his lip as he considers his options. Catching the RED Scout unawares will take more luck and time than he has, and with the Demoman launching himself in unpredictable patterns through the air with his stocky bombs, he will be an equally challenging target. Still, if either of the two downs Scout now, all of their work will have been for naught. He pulls his revolver out of a pocket in his jacket. He may not be able to stab them in the back, but a well-aimed shot could hinder their assault. At the very least, it could draw their attention away from Scout long enough for him to get away.

He only manages to take a half step outside before he sees the Demoman jerk in mid-air, then drop his sticky bomb launcher as his arms go slack. Spy is shocked only for a moment, until he spots the shaft of an arrow protruding from the man's skull. He laughs under his breath, then glances toward where he estimates Sniper to be. Spy doubts he can see the smile and nod he sends his way, but does so anyway, and makes a mental note to remind himself to thank the man later.

The RED Scout begins to chase Scout in an irregular zig-zagging manner that makes him a harder target for Sniper to hit, but also puts more distance between his target. Scout takes the opportunity to leap toward the ruins of a collapsed tower and duck down out of sight. With Scout safe for the time being, Spy searches for a more pressing target: the RED Medic.

The enemy Medic has positioned himself behind his Heavy, the two of them attempting to push through BLU's offense and regain lost ground. Spy doubts the two of them alone will be able to do much on their own - their Demoman will not respawn for several more minutes, and their Soldier is locked in combat too far away - but why give them even the slightest chance at victory? As Spy looks down at his watch to activate it, he spots a red laser sight moving up his stomach. He falls to the ground, scrambling to hide under the window and pressing his back tight against the wall beneath it when he gets there.

Glancing at the new bullet hole in the ground behind where he had just stood, he comes to a quick realization.

"Oh dear," he says to himself, grinning despite the pounding in his heart. "I've made him _mad_."

Mad, he thinks, is perhaps a bit of an understatement. Judging from the where the bullet had landed in the floorboards, the shot would not have been the Sniper's usual clean killing blow, but would have instead entered through his stomach to cause a painful, crippling injury. As he muses over the Sniper's apparent lack of the professionalism he so proudly claims to have - posturing, all of it, _clearly_ - and considers that Medic may have been on to something when he called him lucky today, the Administrator's voice rings out across the battlefield.

"_BLU Team has secured the intelligence. RED Team, that was pitiful_," she says icily.

Spy unfurls himself and gives in to the temptation to stick his head through the window and smirk in the RED Sniper's direction. It doesn't matter that the Sniper likely isn't in his nest anymore, let alone still looking at him - in fact, Spy would prefer that no one see this little slip in his demeanor - he simply has to throw back the fact that the Sniper has _failed_ once again today.

He stands and tries to dust off his suit, a bit of the smug pride fading into annoyance when the dirt and blood refuses to come off. He is just about to turn and join his team for an after-battle celebration, when he is jerked harshly backward by the neck. He feels the cord pull tight around his throat before he can see it, the tell-tale red distortion of air surrounding his counterpart as he decloaks. Spy's revolver clatters to the ground as he clutches at the cord, trying to dig his fingers beneath it.

He jabs his elbow backward into the ribs of the man behind him, then again once more, but despite the pained grunt he receives in response, the RED Spy's grip never falters. He feels his knees begin to shake and forces himself to swing around so that the RED Spy's back is now to the wall. With a last burst of strength, he rams himself backward, and there is a loud _thud_ as the RED Spy is forced into the wall. Spy hears him gasp and curse as the wind is knocked out of him, his hold on the cord finally relaxing enough to Spy to work his fingers underneath it, to pull it far enough from his throat that he can suck in a loud, desperate breath, and _oh._

Oh, it isn't _fair_, he thinks as he sees the cord for the first time before it is pulled back into place, ensnaring his fingers. It's not fair that the enemy's weapons can miraculously become useless upon losing a match, but a necktie, of all things, remains just as deadly. Too late he remembers his knife, but can't move his free hand in any meaningful way to reach it.

"Hold still," the RED Spy hisses, and Spy feels a quick prick at the base of his neck. "You're making this much more difficult than it needs to be."

Spy's legs buckle underneath him, his knees hitting the ground, tearing a new hole in his suit. The RED Spy loosens his grip enough for Spy's fingers to fall uselessly away from his neck, and when he lets go of the necktie entirely, the rest of him tumbles to the floor. Spy is aware enough to feel something prod under his jaw, and dimly wonders why his counterpart would bother to check his pulse as his vision blurs, then goes black.

* * *

I realize I've botched some game mechanics, though in my defense, when I wrote this chapter, I had only been playing the game for a couple months and wasn't as familiar with how all the weapons worked. If the properties of Spy's knife and/or watch ruined your immersion, I apologize. Let's just say he's trying out new/upgraded weapons, like the Engineer is. :| Also, this might have been bad of me, but I didn't have a specific map in mind while writing this. Some sort of mish-mash between Sawmill and Double Cross, I guess.

Apologies for the length of notes on this chapter. Subsequent chapters I will be much less chatty!

Reveiws are appreciated, as is constructive criticism. I can't guarantee how much I'd be able to change based on any concrit given, simply because I've written so much of the story already, but if there's anything that's very seriously wrong, I'd still like to know.


	2. Chapter 2

Gave this fic a crappy title because Untitled was even crappier. Sorry guys, titles are not my strong point.

Anyway, I heard you guys like it when a Sniper appears in your stories tagged Sniper/Spy. Well, this chapter has two of them, so hopefully that will make up for the absence of Snipers in the first chapter. :P It's also a much longer chapter, so hopefully it will tide you over until the next one, which may take longer to come out. In doing my revisions, I've decided that there needs to be a new chapter in between the original Two and Three, so I'll be working on that as well as continuing to revise. Should I not be finished with the next chapter within a week or two, I'll post an unrelated Sniper/Spy one-shot I've been meaning to finish up. Sound good?

Okay, great. On with the chapter, and please give concrit or reviews if you like I don't bite I swear.

* * *

TWO

Spy wakes without opening his eyes, taking in and analyzing the smells, sounds and sensations around him. Clinking metal instruments on steel, isopropyl alcohol permeating the air, rubber shoes tapping on linoleum tiles as someone moves around him. Beneath him, a poorly padded table covered with a tissue paper lining that crinkles with his every movement. Above him, a chill breeze ghosting over his exposed flesh.

He opens his eyes just enough to see and notes the plain white medical gown he has been dressed in, and the blue of his mask that still covers at least down to his nose. He is not too exposed, then. He closes his eyes and twitches his wrists, careful not to cause the tissue paper beneath him to make too much noise. They are bound to the edges of the table, and an exploratory shake of his ankles reveals the same. He has been here before, been immobilized here before, and the thought is almost enough to make him grimace. At least his neck is still attached to his shoulders this time.

"You can stop pretending; I know you're awake," the RED Medic says from a short distance behind him. Spy keeps his eyes shut, controlling his breaths to mimic the deep lull of someone fast asleep. He can call the Medic's bluff, if that's what it is, and perhaps learn more about what was happening to him should the Medic let something slip.

The Medic has other ideas, and growls a threat. "Spy, your anesthetic has worn off. _You are awake_, and if you don't stop insulting both of our intelligence by pretending otherwise, I will take every needle I can find in the trash and inject you with whatever is left in them."

Oh. Well, if he was going to be like _that_...

Spy opens the eye closest to the Medic and looks up at him, a perfect image of nonchalance. "Can you blame me for trying?"

"Nein. But I am in no mood for games tonight."

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe, Doctor," Spy says, both eyes open and scanning the room freely. Unless someone is behind him, stock still and breathing silently, he is alone with the man. The room is exactly how he remembers it. Dim lighting, grey and white plaster walls, and medical tools and devices scattered in a haphazard mess that Spy has learned makes perfect sense only to the Medic. The exit door is shut tight with the blinds drawn, giving no indication of whether there is anyone guarding the way out. Though regardless of whether his route out is blocked, he still will have his bindings to deal with - leather straps looped and buckled around the edge of the exam table. He has gotten himself out of worse before, but in those cases he did not have the threat of medical experimentation looming just around the corner if he failed to free himself fast enough, and Spy has no intention of becoming a head attached to a battery again.

The Medic shrugs, wheeling a cart carrying a metal try filled with syringes, small tools and scalpels. "Well," he says, drawing the word out. "Maybe just a few games."

Spy assures himself it is the chill of the room that makes him shiver, and not the too-wide smile on the Medic's face.

"I have to admit," the Medic continues. "When I asked our Spy to bring me back a patient, I did not think I'd be so lucky as to get you! The results from tonight's work will make a fine addition to what I have in your file already. Even better, I already know what medicines you're allergic to, so I don't need to waste time trying not to accidentally kill you too soon tonight."

He pauses a moment. "Unless, of course, you're allergic to _these_ compounds as well. We'll just have to try some and find out, ja?"

The Medic seems impossibly enthusiastic over the prospect, a feeling that Spy in no way shares. He tugs his wrists against the buckles as the Medic hums a tune under his breath, taking an empty syringe and filling it with a syrupy yellow substance.

"Now, this is something I've been working on for quite some time. You shouldn't feel a thing," he says as he pushes the needle into Spy's right shoulder without warning, earning himself a glare. "Except for that, yes, but this should cause no adverse effects whatsoever. I assure you it's completely necessary for tonight's procedure."

"And what would that be, Doctor?"

"I would love to explain it to you, really, but so much of the data I am hoping to gather could be compromised if you knew what to expect. No, it will be much better for the both of us if you don't know what's coming."

Spy seriously doubts it would be at all good for _him_, though he is more upset over the fact that the Medic's tight lips will keep him focused on the task at hand. If he can distract the Medic long enough, he may be able to slip free from the straps. It may mean breaking a bone or two, but that is nothing that his Medic can not fix with ease.

"Not even a hint?" he asks, widening his eyes in only partially faked curiosity. "If so much rides on this procedure of yours, it must be something quite extraordinary. You must want to tell _someone_ of your work, and I doubt the rest of your team has the interest - or intellect - to listen to you."

"Agh, don't remind me. The ones smart enough to understand don't care enough about it to bother. And we shall not speak of the ones who can't."

The Medic sighs at that, shaking his head. "The collective intelligence on this team leaves much to be desired."

Spy nods in complete agreement as he quietly turns his left wrist, tucking his thumb under his fingers. "But you now have a captive audience, if you'll pardon the pun, and my interest is genuine." He gives his wrist an experimental tug. It moves out of the loop just slightly before getting stuck in place.

The Medic glares at him over the rim of his glasses. "You tempt me," he says, his expression brightening just as quickly as it had darkened as he reaches for a second syringe, this one already full of a murky green liquid. "But don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. The substance I gave you should have spread far enough through your body for me to continue."

He picks up a cotton ball using a set of tweezers and dunks it in a small glass of isopropyl alcohol, dabbing it on the inside of Spy's elbow. "I'd like to just inject you and get this started, but unfortunately this step requires a bit more care. And," he says, tapping the area experimentally before pressing down with his fingers. "A nice, healthy vein."

Spy mentally curses as the Medic lowers the needle to his skin, then jerks his entire body to the side, in a lunge that would have thrown himself off the table were he not strapped down. "Wait!"

"What?!" the Medic yells back at him, jolting upright and backward at his patient's sudden change in behavior. In the midst of their shouting, the Medic misses the quiet snap as Spy dislocates his thumb.

He winces as Medic continues. "Well?"

"Well," Spy echoes, keeping his wrist still as he tries to control the pain coursing through it. He drops his eyes to the syringe in the Medic's hand. "Is it supposed to look like that?"

The Medic tilts his had. "Is... what?"

"Your... concoction, there. It looks like pond scum mixed with bread mold. Is that normal?"

The Medic follows his gaze and gives the syringe a long look. For a moment he is still. Then he looks up at Spy and shrugs, making a quick "I dunno" noise under his breath.

"Ah," Spy says, wishing he could find this even the slightest bit surprising. He works his wrist again, slowly, silently, and finds that he can almost slip his hand through. Almost, but not quite, as it sticks at the widest point. "But if you're not certain that it should be this way, how can you know that it will work?"

"There's only one way to find out," the Medic laughs and lines the needle up to Spy's vein.

He needs more time, but the Medic is holding down his shoulder to prevent him from pulling away again. He tries nonetheless, refusing to simply lay there and accept the Medic's drug without some sort of struggle, not again. But between the buckles and the Medic's firm grip his efforts amount to little more than a twitch that does nothing to stop the Medic from pushing the needle through his skin and into a vein.

"Now, the second you feel something, I want you to describe it in full detail."

Spy grimaces and expects the worst. He expects shooting pain, or numbness, a blackening of the site as the liquid spreads and kills the tissue in his arm, or boils welling up to burst. At the very least a mild burn. Several long moments pass before he raises his eyes up to the Medic, down to the injection site, then back up again.

"When should I start feeling something, Doctor?"

The Medic frowns and takes a clipboard from the side of the cart, quickly reading through it. "Immediately after receiving the injection. Or at least that's what occurred in the animal trials." He begins mumbling to himself, flipping through the pages in his clipboard.

"Nothing is happening," Spy says brightly, unable to stop the smile from accompanying his words. Part of it comes from rubbing in the Medic's failure. Most of it is relief.

"Yes, _thank you_, Spy. I would not have realized without your insightful observation," the Medic snaps at him, not lifting his eyes off his paperwork.

Perfect.

Spy begins to press hard against the leather strap, driving his dislocated thumb further from its socket. With a little more effort, he will be able to slip free. His left thumb will be temporarily mangled in the process, but it is a small price to pay to end the Medic's experimentations early.

Almost... almost... _There._

Before he can catch himself, a pained noise escapes him, and even mixture of a gasp and moan. The Medic snaps to attention, looking at him with a renewed interest.

"What is it?" he asks, leaning over him, eyes glittering with excitement. "Does it hurt?"

"Ah," Spy glances at his arm, wondering how he should respond. It does not hurt there, not in the slightest, but he needs to explain away his noise before the Medic takes notice of his other hand. He is about to speak when his arm gives a violent twitch of its own accord. Both of them watch the sudden movement, Spy's brow furrowing as the Medic makes a notation on his clipboard.

"No," Spy says quietly. "It doesn't hurt. It itches."

The Medic looks up at him as he writes. "Itches?"

Spy nods. "Not terribly, but," he pauses and tries to turn his arm in order to rub it against the table. "As though there is something... many somethings crawling inside."

A thought occurs to him and he blanches suddenly. "Doctor, there was nothing _living_ in that liquid, was there?"

The Medic taps his pen to his chin. "Well, yes, but none of them should be large enough for you to feel their movements. Although," he leers. "That is a fantastic idea, and I will certainly be looking into that into the future. Thank you for your suggestion."

Too busy trying to scratch the itch and ignore the fact that some form of microorganisms are now swimming through his veins, Spy can not be bothered to berate himself for giving the Medic any further ideas. Or to notice when he picks up a second syringe until the Medic closes one of his hands around his arm, keeping it still so he can slide it beneath his skin.

"No, wait just a -" his plea is not acknowledged the second time around, and Spy feels his stomach turn as he watches this new liquid, a less disturbing shade of pale blue, disappear within him.

This is worse than being a head on a battery. Then, he could do nothing but hurl insults, demand, and then bargain for death. He has a body now, he has his strength and his speed, but he can use none of it. He must lay here and wait, praying that the Medic's chemicals do no more than make him itch, until the moment where he can strike arrives. If it arrives.

The thought makes his stomach churn.

"How are you feeling now?"

"It still itches," he says, looking at the Medic impassively as he tries to will the man to take his eyes off of him for just a moment. Speaking just these few words have left his through dry and scratchy. "And my throat is dry."

The Medic writes this down, looking pleased. "How dry?"

"I would like a glass of water," Spy answers.

"No," the Medic says. "How dry is your throat?"

"Dry enough to entertain the idea of drinking your putrid well water."

The Medic rolls his eyes. "Very dry, then."

"There is more," Spy says. "My stomach."

The Medic hovers over him, eyes gleaming. "Yes? What is it?"

"Water first."

"No," he frowns. "Tell me what you are feeling in your stomach."

Spy shakes his head. "My throat is too dry. Give me a glass of your horrible dirt water, and I will tell you."

"I will not be bargained with," the Medic says with a scowl. "If your throat is too dry to go into detail, then explain briefly and we'll come back to this later."

"I can't even begin to explain briefly," Spy says and turns his head away, closing his eyes. "There is simply too much to say."

He hears the Medic make a series of frustrated, strangled noises.

"And if I give you your water," he sighs at last. "Will you tell me everything?"

Spy looks him straight in the eye. "To the last, tiniest detail."

The Medic seems unable to contain his glee as he turns in place and moves to a cupboard.

_Now!_

Spy pulls his wrist the rest of the way out of the strap and sets to work unbuckling his other limbs. He has grabbed a syringe off the table and made his way behind the Medic before he finishes filling a tall glass with water. Spy has the needle pressed against the Medic's neck as his hand slips to cover the man's mouth.

"Now I have a question for you, _Doctor_. And if you do not want to experience the effects of your drugs first hand, I suggest you answer quickly.

He hisses the question into the Medic's ear. "Where. Is. My _suit_?"

* * *

Spy leaves the Medic under his desk, bound and gagged with a chloroform-soaked rag. Though he won't be getting up any time soon to warn the others of their prisoner's escape, Spy wastes no time in getting dressed and re-arming himself with the sturdiest scalpel he can find, his weapons having been confiscated and put out of sight. He needs to leave soon; there is a chance that the Medic could overdose on the chloroform and die - and then respawn - leaving him with perhaps twelve minutes to clear out of the RED base and make it back to BLU.

He wobbles slightly as he walks, keeping his left hand tucked in close to his body, and braces himself at the door, shaking his head clear. Standing and walking has shown him that his balance is off, but he needs the feeling to pass if he is to escape. He wills it to, demands it to, and pushes himself out the door into the familiar hallway. He sticks to the shadows, moving from one to the next in movements that lack his usual fluidity and grace. He wishes his legs felt less leaden and useless.

Ahead, he hears laughter and animated conversation. The RED rec room is up ahead, and by the sound of it, it is full of REDs who no doubt have their weapons close at hand. They know he is here and they will be waiting for him to attempt an escape. Spy inches closer, back flat against the wall, until he is at the entrance. He peers in from the corner of his eye and sees that they are preoccupied with their card games, books and a film playing on a black and white television. He hurries past and carries on.

He'll be fine. He has a chance, and as long as he doesn't screw it up, he'll be fine. The exit is so close he can smell the fresh air. Just one more corner to turn, and-

And he slams face first into the RED Sniper, knocking the wind out of himself.

"Watch where you're goi- You!" The Sniper reaches for his kukri.

"Merde," Spy hisses, and tries to maneuver around him.

The Sniper grabs his arm and pushes him into the wall, kukri against his neck. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from here, from you and the rest of your team. You're all cheats and sore losers, and I have had quite enough of all of you."

The Sniper frowns, pulling his knife back from Spy's throat. "I had nothing to do with bringing you back here. You want to blame someone, you take it up with our Spy. He's the one that dragged your sorry carcass in here after a loss."

"Because you're too much of a _professional_ to dirty your hands like that, no?"

"What're you getting at?"

Spy grips his scalpel tight and tries to break free. He stumbles with the movement, and would have fallen were it not for the Sniper's firm grip on his upper arm. "One routine backstab, and you try to shoot me in the stomach? You would have let me slowly bleed out, while you wake up in respawn not knowing what hit you? That's hardly the actions of a _professional_. Or fair."

"Fair?! What're you..?" the Sniper sputters. "Now look here, your little knife prick had nothin' to do with my shot."

Spy snorts as the Sniper continues, though his attention is quickly torn away by the sound of something, someone, drawing closer.

"- matter is, you saw my sight. And if I have to choose between a bad shot and no shot at all, I'm gonna -"

"Tais-toi!" Spy hisses, clamping his hand over the Sniper's mouth and pulling them both backward into the nearest dark, open room. He pushes the door until it is only open wide enough for him to peer out of, then presses his scalpel against the Sniper's throat. Outside, the RED Demoman comes into view, his arms full of chemical jars and a song on his lips. At least, Spy thinks it's a song. To be truthful, he isn't sure it's even in English, though it does sound something like the Scottish Gaelic tunes his team's Demoman will occasionally break into.

Spy watches the Demoman until he slips out of view and breathes a sigh. The relief he feels is cut short by a sudden burst of pain in his hand.

"You bit me!" he hisses, yanking his twice-injured hand out of range of the Sniper's long canines.

The Sniper wipes his mouth, giving him an equal look of disgust. "You're all sweaty. It's disgusting."

"You throw your own piss," Spy reminds him, poking his head through the doorway and scanning the hallway before stepping outside.

The Sniper follows warily, still ready to swing his kukri if need be. "You look like shit, you know. What the hell happened to you, Spook?"

"Ask your Medic," Spy growls, and for a moment he thinks he sees something less threatening flashing in the Sniper's eyes before his expression hardens again.

He grabs Spy's shoulder. "What'd you do to the doc? I know he didn't let you walk out of there."

"He is in his office, alive and well. Probably," Spy adds as an afterthought, pulling away from the Sniper. No longer supported by anything, he fights against his legs to stay upright.

The look Spy can't place returns to the Sniper's face before he points somewhere behind him. "The exit's right there. Keep walking in a straight line and you'll be back in your base in a half hour."

"You're letting me walk away?" Spy asks, taking a long step backward.

The Sniper closes the distance, keeps closing it as Spy retreats, until they reach the door. "No," he says.

"I'm not letting you walk away. But the way I figure, you shouldn't ever have been brought here today. It's _not fair_," he says with a sneer, throwing Spy's words back at him. "So I figure I can at least give you a head start before I trip the alarm here."

He pats a device mounted to the wall by the door, covering it with his hand.

"How long do I have?" Spy asks, hoping he does not sound as tired as he feels.

The Sniper glances at his watch. "Better start running, Spy. Clock's ticking."

He does not need to be told twice. Though his legs still feel like lead, and his gait is shaky and off balance, he runs. He does not get very far before he hears the alarm bell ring, the noise carrying swiftly through the cool night air. The bullets do not come as soon as he expects them to. He does not understand why; even the slowest of the RED team would have reached the door and began using their long-range weapons at him by now, and the Sniper will surely not risk being called a traitor by holding up his teammates.

A second siren begins to blare in the distance, and if Spy did not feel so light-headed he would be laughing. The Sniper had pulled the fire alarm, he realizes, and now there is a red truck racing down the highway to put out a fire that does not exist. He crosses into BLU territory and though his pace begins to slow, he keeps running until he reaches the entrance door to his base and collapses on top of it with a loud thump. He looks down at the doorknob disdainfully and, deciding he has just met the prerequisite polite knocking, presses the doorbell. He can hear the loud buzz through the door, and knows the sound will carry through the entire base.

He keeps the doorbell ringing much longer than necessary, until he hears a distant 'will someone get the damn door?', until he hears a much closer 'alright, alright, let up already!', until the door is yanked out from under him with a harsh 'what?!' and he tumbles forward onto his Sniper's chest.

"Bonsoir," he mumbles into Sniper's vest. "May I come in?"

"Spy?" Sniper grabs his shoulders and pushes him upright. "Where've you- what happened?"

He leads Spy inside, though he only manages a couple steps before stopping to lean against the wall and sliding down onto the bench beneath it.

"Our competition did not take their defeat gracefully," he says, tossing the scalpel to the floor as his fingers twitch, yearning for a cigarette to roll between them. His cigarette case is somewhere within the RED base, and though he can get a replacement easily enough later, his body craves the relaxing nicotine now.

"Ah, piss," Sniper grumbles, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. "You need to see the doc?"

"No!" Spy says before he can stop himself. At the look Sniper gives him, he shakes his head. "I- Yes. Forgive me, I've just run out on an appointment with the other Medic."

Sniper winces. "Again? He's got it in for you, mate."

"Mm," Spy says, his eyelids beginning to droop. "That he does."

"Uh-uh, none of that," Sniper says, extending his hand. "Let's get you down to the Medic before you pass out."

"That would be nice."

"Well, come on then."

Spy shakes his head at the proffered hand, forcing a lopsided grin. "No. I am far too weak. You will have to carry me down."

"Wha- Are you out of your mind? _Carry_ you?"

He nods. "I have undergone the cruelest tortures, barely escaped with my life, and ran the entire distance between the RED base and ours. I can go no further." It's at least partially true, he thinks, so he does not feel too guilty about making himself look a bit more miserable than he feels, and leans further into the wall. His shoulders sag as he flutters his eyelids shut.

"You're not that hurt, you liar," Sniper says with a huff. "Now get on, you wanker, before I change my mind."

Spy opens one eye to see that Sniper has turned around, squatting in front of him. With a grin, he pushes himself off the wall, half crawling onto Sniper's back. He wraps his arms over the man's shoulders as Sniper grabs hold beneath his thighs and stands.

"Thank you."

"You owe me," he snorts and begins walking. When no answer comes, he twists his head to look at him from the corner of his eye. "You gonna be alright?"

Spy nods into his shoulder, letting his eyes close again now that Sniper can not see him and pester him until he stops. "I will be, later. And let's take the long way there. No need to pass by our colleagues and worry them."

"More like you don't want to embarrass yourself," Sniper snorts, but turns down a hallway that would normally be out of the way.

A moment passes, and he lets out a low whistle. "What'd they do to your hand. It looks like crap."

"That is the third time today I have been told I look like excrement," Spy grumbles. "I am beginning to take offense."

Sniper shakes his head. "Well it does. Puffed up, bruised, looks like it's bleedin' on the inside, too. Did those bastards take a hammer to it, or -?"

"I did it to myself."

That stops him in his tracks. "You did what?"

Spy lifts his head off Sniper's shoulder so as not to mumble his words and explains, "They thought they could restrain me. I dislocated my thumb to slip out of the bindings."

"I've seen dislocated fingers before. I've seen _your_ fingers dislocated before. This is worse."

"Yes, well, if I could have slipped my hand all the way through the straps I would not have had to break the bone further. Clearly, that did not work as well as I had planned."

"You're a lunatic," Sniper says as he continues on his way to Medic's office. "Glad you're back in one piece, though."

"Mmf," Spy responds eloquently, distantly watching the white and blue walls pass him by. There is nothing interesting about them, no distinguishing marks from one wall to another, just a thin layer of dust coating the paint and tile. If he concentrates, he can smell dirt, traces of old blood from battles and accidents alike, cigarette smoke and alcohol. It is bland, dirty, and completely welcome.

Medic's voice pulls him out of his haze. "What happened now?"

"The RED Medic -"

"No, no, I don't care," Medic says as he stands up from behind his desk. He waves the two of them inside. "Bring him in and get him on the exam table. Now."

Sniper walks him into the room, stopping in front of the table Medic points at. "Time to let go," he says, and Spy reluctantly obeys, sliding down onto the table. Sniper lifts Spy's legs onto it, but before he can lean into the flat pillow at the top, Spy feels another set of hands hold him in place.

"Not yet," Medic says, dropping a plain white hospital gown into his lap. "Get changed into this; if the other Medic has been at him at all I'll need to do a full examination."

Spy's jaw tightens as he complies, looking away from both men. Sniper stands to the side, rubbing the back of his head while Medic bustles about the room grabbing IV bags, a stand, and his medigun. Medic's office may be more familiar, more safe than the RED Medic's, but it is similar enough in design to put him back on edge.

His one-handed undressing apparently taking too long, Medic calls from the other side of the room. "Sniper, assist him with that."

Sniper moves forward and pulls Spy's waistcoat down over his shoulders, letting him shrug it off the rest of the way before unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers move from button to button with a deftness Spy rarely sees him display when he is not reloading his rifle in the middle of a battle.

"I am quite capable of doing this myself," he says as he hands his shirt over to him, slipping into the thin gown.

Sniper tosses his clothes onto a side table in an unfolded pile, then tugs Spy's shoes off without unlacing them. "Funny, when just a few minutes ago you were too weak to bring yourself down here. Caught your second wind, did you?"

"Well," Spy begins, too distracted by the clatter his shoes make when Sniper drops them to the floor and kicks them beneath the table to come up with a proper explanation.

"There's a difference," he finally finishes.

"Sure there is, mate," Sniper responds, flashing him a crooked grin. His expression sobers and his body stiffens slightly. "You're, uh, well enough to take care of your own pants, then?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you for your assistance."

"Good. Alright, then I'll -"

"Be leaving," Medic says as he mounts his medigun to its stand above the table. "You've done your part, now let me do mine. Spy, remove those pants before I cut them off."

Spy allows himself to roll his eyes, slowly and deliberately, as he finishes undressing, passing his trousers to Sniper to be put with the rest of his clothes.

"Alright," Sniper says after a moment. "Spy, if I find out you died after I dragged you down here, I'm going to be pissed. So get better, alright?"

He tips his hat at Spy once before turning and making his way out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Spy finds himself wishing Sniper had decided to be stubborn and refuse to leave, to quietly take up residence in the corner and keep an eye on them both. Spy knows that he is safe. He knows he is in good hands; that their Medic is not the same soulless madman as the RED's. But Spy wants nothing more to do with hospital beds and medicine and men of science. He wants his silk pajamas, a glass of wine and several long cigarettes before curling up in a bed behind a thrice-locked door.

He is jolted out of his thoughts by a shot of pain in his hand. He looks down to see Medic turning it over, forcing his thumb in all directions.

"Aside from your hand and neck," Medic says, running his fingers over the deep bruises extending from his thumb. "You don't seem to have any major injuries. So what has gotten you into such a condition?"

"The RED Medic," he says, and knows from Medic's ensuing 'ah' that he understands.

"Injections?"

"Something yellow, something green and something blue. And some sort of tranquilizer on the battlefield. Four in all, that I'm aware of."

Medic looks up from his hand. "You don't know what?"

"He was infuriatingly tight-lipped about it all. Although I suspect he had no idea what he was injecting me with either."

Sighing, Medic says, "This doesn't surprise me. But it will make this much more difficult."

He guides Spy onto the pillow beneath him, prodding at the purple bruises along his throat. "And your symptoms?"

"I am light-headed and have nausea. There are pains in my stomach. My arm itched for some time after the second injection, but that seems to have passed. My legs," he pauses and shakes his head. "I don't know how I made it back here the way I did. They feel so stiff and heavy; it's hard to move them. I am thirsty, but most of all I am just _tired._"

Medic nods and moves to the sink, filling a paper cup. "You haven't drank anything all day, have you? I'll get you a glass of water. Then we can work on getting those chemicals out of your body."

"And how were you going to do that?"

"Since they're in your blood, I was going to start with a transfusion or several," he says as he puts the cup to Spy's lips. "Of course, by now the chemicals will have spread into your muscles and organs, so it won't get rid of all of it. But I do have some spare parts in the fridge. If you don't mind having a few -"

Spy pushes the now empty cup away and fixes his narrowing eyes on Medic's. "I mind," he says in a low voice. "I have had enough of needles and experiments for one night, Medic. I will not allow any more."

"And you think you know better than me, now?" Medic sighs. "Fine, fine. I don't have enough organs to swap with your diseased ones anyway. You'll just go into organ failure and then I'll never hear the end of it, will I?"

"Absolutely not," Spy agrees.

With a nod, Medic picks up several small, empty syringes. "Very well. However, you will be spending the night here so I can monitor your health for any further ill effects, and I _will_ be taking some blood samples for testing. Whether you will allow it or not."

The look he gives Spy makes it clear that there will be no room for negotiation. Spy nods, and watches Medic closely as he fills the empty vials with his blood. He notes that Medic seems unusually focused on the task, and is not working at quite the same rapid pace that is his norm. Still, he finishes with what Spy considers to be an unnecessarily large amount of blood drawn, and busies himself with setting them aside and wheeling over an IV stand.

When Spy realizes the stand and accompanying bag of fluid attached to it are still meant for him, he begins to push himself upright, fighting off the dizzy spell that rushes straight to his head.

"Medic, I said I did not want any further injections."

"Yes, that's right," Medic says and pushes him back down, lining up the needle.

"Medic," Spy growls and grabs his wrist.

Medic sighs and pulls away. "Will you quit being such a baby? This is a saline solution. You're severely dehydrated, and your veins were small enough before I took blood from them. Do you really want to wake up in respawn over something like this?"

A moment passes before Spy releases his hold on Medic, looking away sheepishly. "My apologies," he says. "It's been a long night."

"Yes, yes, of course it has," Medic mutters as he inserts the needle, holding it in place with a strip of tape.

"There, see?" he grins after he finishes, clasping Spy on the shoulder. "It's just salt water. And a very mild tranquilizer."

"What?!" Spy tries to sit up, but the hand on his shoulder is holding him in place. He doubts the supposed strength of the tranquilizer as he feels his movements grow even more sluggish and weak, and he struggles against the feeling.

"Just enough for you to relax during your examination," Medic says, then releases him and turns to his medigun. "But mostly, mostly it's just salt water."

"Merde," Spy whispers, dimly aware that the device is being turned on and directed at his hand.

"Don't worry," Medic says in a voice that sounds distant, his smile too wide and too gleaming white. "You'll be just fine!"

As the cool, blue beam from the medigun hit his hand and relieves the pain, Spy loses his battle to stay awake and drifts far away.


End file.
